


Unusual practices

by SilenceoftheLlamas



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Con claim culture, M/M, Mentions of Dratchet, Past Decepticon!Jazz, Possession Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:34:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25070026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilenceoftheLlamas/pseuds/SilenceoftheLlamas
Summary: When Jazz finds something he likes, he really likes to sink his teeth in.
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl
Comments: 12
Kudos: 161





	Unusual practices

Jazz was a restless ball of energy that afternoon. He flittered around the rec room, not knowing what to do with himself. He knew what he wanted – what he needed – but Prowl didn’t get off shift for another two joors, and his need was slowly eating him alive.

Mecha were starting to notice, too. How Jazz seemed to almost vibrate, never staying still for a single moment. Eventually, Jazz disappeared, and they wondered if he was okay.

Prowl’s doorwing twitched as an alert came up on his HUD. The door to his quarters had been opened. _Jazz_. He glanced at his internal chronometer. Still a joor to go on his shift.

Flicking through the reports he had left for the day, he weighed his options. He could go now, shirking his duties and potentially disappointing his Prime but having a very happy Jazz, or he could go later, and have a happy Prime, but a very upset Jazz.

He found that Jazz came up higher on his list of priorities, and he locked his reports up in his desk, remotely sending the command for the lights to dim.

His quarters were on the other side of the base, and he was subjected to many looks as he walked through. Just what _had_ Jazz been up to?

* * *

Prowl opened the door to his quarters to find Jazz curled up on his berth, curled up on his side as he clutched a pillow to his chest, face buried into it.

“Jazz?” Prowl softly asked, closing and locking the door behind him.

The pillow was flung across the room as Jazz leaped up, straight into Prowls arms. He buried his face into his neck, trembling as he wrapped his arms around him, pulling him impossibly close.

“Bad day?” Prowl prompted, walking them over to the sofa and pulling him down with him to sit astride his lap. Jazz shook his head, field trembling tight against his frame. He pulled away from Prowls neck, looking at him with a visor of deep, deep blue, and then it clicked for Prowl.

“You need to mark me again?”

“I do.”

“You really don’t need to.” Prowl affectionately replied, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips. “They all know that I’m yours.”

“Prowler!” Jazz whined, shifting to be straddling his thighs. “You know why I do.”

“Sorry, that was rather mean of me, wasn’t it?” He worked kisses up the side of Jazz’s face, enjoying how he shook and shuddered under his hands. “Decepticon culture is still alien to me.”

“So mean.” Jazz leaned into the display of affection, melting like putty. “You’ll let me?”

“Of course.”

“Anywhere?” There was a hopeful tone in there. Prowl was quiet for a moment, thinking hard as he pressed kisses to the delicate metal of Jazz’s neck. In the past, he’d only let Jazz leave his marks in places easily hidden. Less questions – the fact that Jazz was ex-con was already a hard enough pill to swallow. The fact that he was busy nibbling their SIC, that while he may have left the Decepticons but the Decepticon never left him? _Scandalous_. Morale would take a big hit. But it did have its faults, such as the fact that it had never, ever satisfied Jazz. He always wanted more more more, to do it again and again and again. Prowl briefly wondered if he’d eventually run out of space, out of places that he could easily hide.

But the more visible the place was, the more likely that someone else was to see it, the happier Jazz was. The more satisfied he was. The longer he could go without desperately needing to do it again.

And, he realised, thumbs drawing circles on Jazz’s inner thigh, he found that he didn’t really mind if others saw it. It was no secret that they were together, anyway. Everyone knew. While it would decrease morale in the short term, his battle computer supplied, in the long term it would significantly improve it. If Jazz was working at his best, then the army worked at its best.

“Anywhere.” He confirmed.

Jazz suddenly froze, frame locking up. He looked at Prowl in wonder, as if he were the luckiest mech on the planet, but also terrified that it would all be suddenly taken from him. “Really?”

“Really.” Prowl allowed himself a small smile. “I want you to.”

Jazz keened, grabbing Prowls face and kissing him deeply. Prowl gasped, doorwings flying up into a sharp ‘V’, quickly adjusting his grip on him. Jazz’s field exploded in love and joy, crackling against Prowls own. He pulled away, fans working hard as he gasped for a breath he didn’t need to take. His optics flew around Prowls frame as he rubbed his thumbs on Prowls cheeks, enjoying the pleasant pressure of Prowl leaning into them, weighing his options. Prowl had said anywhere. He had been given permission to go anywhere, to do anything he pleased. Prowl was not one to lie. He did not understand, or appreciate, words with double meanings. If he said that Jazz could go anywhere, then he truly meant anywhere.

He chewed his lip, pressing their hips together. He wanted him so badly it made his chest ache. Leaning down, he began to kiss him again, feeling Prowl smiling against him as Jazz wrapped his legs around him, pulling them firmly together-

and then suddenly, the world span, and the next thing Prowl knew was that his back hurt, the floor was suddenly underneath him, and Jazz was perched on top of him, looking down at him like a predator looked at their prey.

His spark skipped a beat.

Prowl could feel the adoration in Jazz’s field, possessiveness bleeding in as he kissed his neck, dragging his teeth along the cables there. _Ah_ , Prowl thought, _he’s going to mark my neck._

Correct.

Jazz took his sweet time, laying the affection on thick, engine purring as he pressed into Prowls hands as they roamed his frame. He was clearly enjoying himself, but Prowl wasn’t about to deny that he was too. Mutual enjoyment was always the goal.

There was no warning before Jazz sank his sharp teeth in, pulling and wrenching on delicate metal. His jaw wrapped around vital lines, and he _pulled_. Energon spilled out warm, quickly spilling out onto the floor beneath them. Prowl loudly cried out in pain, optics squeezing shut as he kicked out, hands clenching on Jazz’s wrists.

“I’m sorry, baby~” Jazz purred into his audial, licking his lips and making Prowl shudder. “Why don’t I patch you up?” He pulled a medical kit from his subspace, one Prowl recognised as being a part of field supplies. He popped it open and began delicately sopping up the spilled energon, Prowl panting heavily as his optics flickered.

Primus, that _hurt_.

“I do hope you didn’t hold back.” Prowl gasped, throat wet. “Or I will make you do it again.”

“I may have.” Jazz hummed, chastely kissing him. “Does this hurt?”

“Quite a bit.” Prowls optics focused on Jazz. “You held back? Do it again.”

“This is enough for now-”

Prowl sat up, Jazz sliding backwards in his lap and gasping when Prowl grabbed his collar.

“I don’t want your half-assed love, Jazz. All or nothing. You want to mark me? You want to make me yours? _Then do it_.”

Jazz’s laugh bubbled up from deep inside him, overjoyed and melodious. His hands, slick with energon from where he’d been patching up his bite, reached up to cup Prowls face. He gently kissed him, whispering five words against his lips.

“I love you so much.”

Prowl hoped, that in the way his own field flared and pulsed and his hands tightened against him, Jazz knew the feeling was extremely mutual.

Unceremoniously, Jazz shoved Prowl back down to the floor again, and Prowls surprised grunt quickly turned into a pained scream as Jazz bit down harshly, carving straight through the metal of his neck and tugging it free. Energon audibly bubbled out, the welds and patches on the other side of his throat coming loose. Jazz would have to redo them. Prowl could hear Jazz panting against him, frame trembling, before he began gently lapping up the energon. It was a losing battle – there was no way Jazz would be able to clean him up, with the gusto of which it was currently spilling out of him, but still he dutifully lapped away until Prowls helm thunked against the floor, optics flickering with white.

Prowl never considered himself to be the type to enjoy the visual of a loved one covered in your own lifeblood, but this was a day of discovery, and Prowl found that he very much did appreciate the aesthetic. Jazz’s visor was the same deep, deep blue that it went when he was close to overload, his optics two pinpricks of bright white behind the crystalline pane. Energon dripped down Jazz’s chin, slickening his neck and dripping down thickly onto his chest in a rhythmic melody. _What a view_ , Prowl found himself thinking. Jazz truly was a sight to see, no matter how he looked.

Jazz quietly began to dutifully patch him back up again, pressing a clean mesh into the viciously bleeding open wounds.

“I do hope you didn’t hold back this time.” Prowl wheezed, energon spattering his lips. “I don’t think I have another one of those in me.”

“Lucky for you, I don’t either.” Jazz purred. “If the urge ever strikes me again,” He said, trailing his free hand down Prowls face, smearing energon in a bright pink streak, “I just need to look at you.”

Once Jazz was done, he leaned down and began to gently lap up the energon he didn’t manage to wipe away before. Prowl let himself be pulled this way and that to allow Jazz better access, and only complained a little when Jazz insisted on cleaning his face with his tongue, too.

“You’re going to need a shower.” Prowl commented. Jazz glanced down at himself. “Probably.” He smirked. “I kinda like it, though. You’re all over me.”

The lack of energon left Prowl woozy, and that simple phrase was all his frame needed to suddenly dope him with a surge of energy. He caught Jazz unawares as he flipped them over, pinning Jazz against the bottom of the sofa. Jazz’s hands immediately flew backwards to catch himself, clutching the soft plush coverings as he looked directly up into Prowls optics, mere inches from his own.

“I like that idea.” He said, pulling Jazz down so he was flat against the floor, legs hooked over his hips. “I really do. Open up.” He tapped Jazz’s chest plates. “If you are going to claim me like a Decepticon, then I shall claim you like an Autobot.”

A sharp intake of breath and his chest plates flew open, granting Prowl access.

Beautiful, was all Prowl could think. Every time he saw it, he thought the same – _beautiful_. Behind the metal casing of his spark case was a sky blue spark, and he knew it well. But today, it was not his target. No, today, he was after the sensitive metal that protected the essence of who Jazz was.

Prowl unsheathed his claws, a feature not many knew that he had. He didn’t have sharp teeth like Jazz had, so he couldn’t return the favour of a mauled neck. But he _could_ do this.

Prowl felt a small spike of fear in Jazz’s field as his clawed digit lightly scratched his spark casing, and hesitated, looking up at his face. Jazz was biting his lip, the way he did when he was excited about something, his visor overly bright.

It was enough for him to feel safe enough to continue.

Typical Autobot spark case markings were… less permanent. They could be removed, with some encouragement – carving directly onto it was not the done thing. There was even a whole ceremony involved in it – and what Prowl was doing was a severe bastardisation of the sacred act.

And Jazz _loved_ it.

Prowl, not for the first time, was grateful for soundproofing.

Jazz _screamed_. One hand scrabbled to grab onto the wrist that Prowl was bracing himself on the floor with, the other madly scrabbling at the floor, leaving deep scratches in its wake. They’d have to fix that later. Right now, Prowl had better things to think about. The frantic love and delight in Jazz’s field enveloped him, egging him on. This close to Jazz’s spark, Prowl could feel random pulses of emotion and words. Jazz was mentally begging, back arching as coolant ran in thick streams down his face, begging for more, more, _more_. His engine hiccuped, and Jazz shuddered, pushing his hips more insistently against Prowls.

“Almost done.” Prowl murmured, carving the last symbol as Jazz gasped and shuddered, thighs clenching Prowls midsection.

Prowl gently kissed his spark casing, drawing a pleased moan out of Jazz, pulling away to observe his handiwork at a distance. He nodded, extremely pleased with it.

“Can I look?” Jazz asked.

“Of course.”

Jazz winced as he pushed himself up, Prowl immediately shuffling forwards to help, and looked down.

Prowl had carved his _own name_ there. Jazz was silent, field pulled in tight, and worry bloomed in Prowls field. Had he severely misjudged? Was this not okay? Did he not like it?

He went to apologise, but Jazz got there first. He immediately flew forwards, hugging him tightly as he tried valiantly to not aggravate Prowls injuries.

“Primus Prowler, I-” Jazz choked on his words, finally extending his field to express how he felt where words could not. Happy. Jazz was _happy_. Prowl smiled into his neck, pressing feather light kisses to the hot metal as their fields meshed together, intertwining in a dance they both knew off by heart.

“I’m sorry.” Prowl murmured against him. “I should have asked first. That’s permanent.” They had discussed bonding before – but they’d made no plans to any time soon. Trepidation began to settle in his spark. This could have been a grave mistake.

Jazz looked down at him, grinning widely. “Are you kidding? That’s the best thing I’ve ever seen. I _never_ expected you to do it back to me.” He gently traced the tips of his digits against the raw metal, breath held. “It’s so _you_. And so permanent, too. What if someone else sees?”

Prowl gently grasped Jazz’s hand, pulling it away and intertwining their digits.

“As if I’d ever let anyone else see.”

Extremely, worryingly possessive, he knew – this whole thing should have been setting off about fifty different red flags. But he knew Jazz liked it – remnants of the Decepticon culture that still refused to let go, he assumed – and he found that he quite liked the way Jazz’s field flared, the way his lips twitched, and the way his visor flashed whenever he did it. Perhaps he was being conditioned.

Prowl, up until that point running purely on adrenaline, suddenly began to feel the full effects of energon loss. His HUD was lit up with errors and alerts that up until now he’d been dismissing and ignoring, far more focused on the task at hand, but now that all was said and done?

Primus, he felt woozy.

He faltered, falling backwards, barely catching himself on his arms. His doorwings drooped, and optics flickered with static.

“I do believe a visit to Ratchet is in order.”

Jazz snickered, hiding his wince behind his visor. “He’s gonna be so cross with us.”

“Worth it.” A thunk as Prowls doorwings hit the floor. Jazz moved to slide off of him, but Prowl quickly tightened his grip in a signal to stay. Hesitantly, Jazz made himself more comfortable.

“Are you okay?” A dumb question, he knew – Prowl was definitely _not_ okay. The patches he’d given him were fieldwork at best, just enough to keep him alive. Energon still slipped free in places – just the knowledge that he was the reason sent a thrill straight down his spine – but Prowl had already lost so much…

“I will be.” Prowl attempted to swallow with great effort. “I’ve sent him a message. He should be here soon.”

“Is he mad?”

“Very.”

“Good.” Jazz curled up against him, closing his chest plates, the cold air beginning to sting. “I’ll protect you.”

* * *

Ratchet arrived quickly, pausing at the doorway to take in the scene before him. Prowl, laying on the sofa with a towel underneath his upper body to absorb his leaking life blood. Jazz, wiping what looked suspiciously like energon from his face. Both were looking at him nervously.

_Good. They should be._

“What on Cybertron did you do?” Ratchet waved Jazz away, the shorter mech skedaddling and perching elsewhere, watching like a hawk.

“I bit him.” Jazz chirped.

“And what possessed you to do that?”

“Cultural reasons.” Prowl rumbled, hissing and wincing as Ratchet removed the field dressing Jazz had applied. Jazz jerked as if to react, catching himself at the last moment, flashing his teeth.

Ratchet barely spared him a glance. Having worked on both Autobot and Decepticon patients alike, he knew how they tended to respond, Jazz included. While he was an Autobot through and through, he still had some of his past tendencies, such as the extremely possessive and protective habit of being a pain in the ass when a friend was being given medical care.

And given how Jazz had given a rather obvious display of possession and affection? He was going to be an even _bigger_ pain in the ass. He was grateful that Jazz both knew better, and was a better mech than he had been a few vorns ago.

“This is worse than the other times.” Ratchet commented as he carefully welded the plating shut. “Any particular reason why you went for the throat this time?”

“I wanted to. He wanted me to.” Jazz replied while Prowls jaw clenched and his optics shuttered, clearly straining against the pain.

He glanced at Prowl and made a mental note to ask him about that later.

Ratchet worked quickly, and checked Prowls levels. He was okay, in a loose sense of the word – he wouldn’t need a transfusion; Jazz had done well in his attempts at a temporary bandage. All of his other levels were within acceptable limits – he was stressed, which was obvious, and Ratchet felt it was reasonable for him to force him to drink down a cube of medical grade and insist that he gave him a proper check up later.

“Now, Prowl, do not reopen these. You don’t need a transfusion now, but if these reopen, you will. You’re right on the edge.” Ratchet warned him. “Rest. No exerting activity. Jazz, behave yourself. He needs to relax.”

“Yes, Sir.” Prowl replied, flexing his neck to test the welds. It felt tight, but nothing he couldn’t handle. “Thank you.”

“Drink this.” Ratchet placed a sizeable cube of medical grade into his hand. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have better business to attend to than two dumb officers who know damn well better than this.” Ratchet snapped, closing his medical bag with a snap. “I expect you at the medical bay as soon as you feel you are able to walk so I can give you a proper check up.”

“Wait.” Prowl pointed to Jazz, perched innocently on the plush chair by the desk. “Him too.”

“What?” Ratchet raised an optic ridge, looking him over. “Did you hurt yourself mauling your partner?”

“Nope.” Jazz cheerfully replied. He tapped his chest. “Prowler got me back!”

With a sense of trepidation, Ratchet stared at the chest plates. Jazz felt the faint tingle of a medical scan, smile never leaving his face.

“Oh, Prowl, you did _not_.”

“Oh, he did.” Jazz grinned.

Prowl was silent, hands delicately crossed on his waist, staring up at the ceiling.

“Fine. Show me.” Ratchet huffed, stalking over and dumping his medical bag down onto the desk. “I want you down to the medical bay, too. ASAP.”

“Sure.” Jazz hummed, sending the command for his chest plates to open. Ratchet was faced with his spark casing, entirely intact and otherwise healthy, except for the intricate carving curtsey of Prowl.

His face palm echoed throughout the room. He was far, _far_ too old for this shit.

“Why the frag did you do that?!” Ratchet demanded, carefully wiping at the weeping wounds, cleaning it up and disinfecting it. Spark casing infections were no joke – Jazz was in serious trouble if he got sick from this. How could Prowl have been so stupid?!

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Prowl replied from the sofa, still staring resolutely at the ceiling.

“Simply inspired, Prowler.”

“You’re not even _bonded_!” Ratchet continued as if they hadn’t replied. “This is permanent, you two do realise? Jazz is going to have this for the rest of his life.”

“He’s going to have that for the rest of his life.” Jazz replied, pointing at his neck.

Ratchet spluttered. “That can be repaired, it can be replaced! This, this is irreplaceable.”

“As if I’d ever consider re-hauling my upper body.” Prowl scoffed.

“Damn kids.” Ratchet muttered under his breath, gently covering Jazz’s spark casing with a protective seal. “Don’t touch this. Don’t open your spark casing until this is completely healed, you hear me?”

“Aye aye.”

The medical bag was snapped shut again. “Anything else you wish to surprise me with?”

“Nothing that comes to mind.” Prowl replied. “Thank you, Ratchet.”

With Ratchet gone, the room feel into a companionable silence. Jazz slid off of the chair, slinking over to the sofa, and returned to his previous position curled up against Prowls side. Difficult, given the sofa was only so wide, but he managed, legs slung up over his Prowler and tucking himself in against him where he could.

“He’s one to talk.” Jazz murmured against him, a pleasant vibration against Prowls side. “He’s done the same with Drift.”

“Hmm?” Prowl perked up at that. “Really?”

“I’ve got an optic for these things.” Jazz grinned up at him.

“Yes,” Prowl agreed, “I suppose you do.”

“Ahh, I wish we could do that again.” Jazz sighed, tracing invisible patterns on Prowls chest plates. “ _I’ll claim you like an Autobot_.” Jazz attempted to mimic Prowls voice, earning him a playful swat. “ _So_ hot.”

Prowl turned so that he was leaning over Jazz, one hand braced against the arm of the sofa so that he loomed over him, the other braced on his forearm beside Jazz’s helm, and his thigh pressed in between his legs. Jazz’s visor brightened and he bit his lip.

_Too easy_.

But, not today.

“While I would usually love to indulge you,” Prowl began, and Jazz knew just how true those words were, “I do not feel it would be wise, in our current state.”

Jazz could only feel inclined to agree. His spark felt like it could burst – Ratchet had said no opening its casing up, but he couldn’t guarantee that he’d be able to stop himself with Prowl so close and so dominating. The ache permeated through his frame, sinking deep into his struts. He couldn’t even _begin_ to imagine how Prowl was feeling right now.

“Tease.” Jazz pouted, leaning up and kissing his nose.

“Hush.” Prowl pecked him on the lips. “Go shower. You’re going to get sticky.”

**Author's Note:**

> I read a fic by GhostHost involving con claim culture and I genuinely haven’t been able to think of anything else for hours. Hook line and sinker, my god. In somewhat related news: I have no words other than to apologise for this.


End file.
